


I'll keep breathing (til my heart stops)

by Stormhowl (FireflyLullaby)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sheith Week 2016, Sheith Week 2016: Together/Alone, Sheith Week: Hurt/Comfort, implied soulmates, sheithweek2k16
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 03:14:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8354695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireflyLullaby/pseuds/Stormhowl
Summary: Sheith Week 2016 Day 1: Hurt/Comfort
Shiro’s hand slides down his wrist with the barest touch, sending him shivering, before his fingers twine itself together with Keith’s own. 
They don’t talk about this either. Kerberos changed things. But nothing has ever changed the way Keith feels for Shiro.

  A collection of Sheith Week 2016 fics: Day 1 & Day 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _My love, my love_  
>  _Where've you gone?_  
>  _I turned around and now_  
>  _I'm alone_  
>  _Will I ever understand it?_  
>  _Will I make it to the other side?_  
>  _I almost died_  
>  _The day I lost you_  
>   
>  _I'll keep breathing_  
>  _Til my heart stops_  
>   
> [Til My Heart Stops](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zKwEdvU5bRg) by Too Far Moon  
>  It's a beautiful song. I suggest a listen :)

Keith doesn’t talk about his dreams.

He doesn’t talk about how he relives his childhood; a memory filled with bloody, cracked lips and red-rimmed eyes, of scabbed knuckles and skinned knees. He doesn’t talk about how, for the longest time, it felt like him against the world, a world that takes and takes and never stops taking.

He doesn’t talk about how he lost his home and his heart when the world took Shiro away. 

He doesn’t talk about his nightmares, either. The death, the dying, the inability to save Shiro, his friends, his family. He doesn’t talk about how the memories and the conceivable futures used to leave him grasping and struggling for air, silent screams ripped out of his throat in the anguish the dreams brought him. He doesn’t talk about how, now, all that escapes him are a few stray tears upon waking, the remnants of dreams (nightmares) slipping past his closed eyes. 

His newfound friendship with the paladins is only fodder for his demons. The more his world expands, the more he has to lose. And that terrifies Keith. 

The weight of their mission lays heavy on his shoulders, all of their shoulders. How could it not, when they’ve got the fate of planets in the very palm of their hands? He knows it lays pressing on all of them, in the way Shiro wills his hidden wounds closed, a forced stapling just bound to burst at its seams. In the way Allura watches them all with careful eyes and shielded worry, and sees the unwarranted flickers of old ghosts – past paladins – in every one of them (in every success, and in every failure). 

He can see it in her eyes now, as she gazes upon the broken, tired bodies of her warriors, fates thrust upon the teens – all too young and too old at the same time. These are the results of a war against the 10,000-year-old reign of the Galra that has ensnarled them in a fight, galaxies away from their home planet. 

That is, if you can call it a war when very often they are barely scraping by. Keith scoffs. Voltron might be a deadly force against the Galra, but what is one formed Voltron – or five lions – and a castle ship against a force that has myriads of trained soldiers?

Still, a small part of him believes – wants to believe – that Voltron can do just that – the impossible.

When he looks at his team (his family) something burns ablaze within him. He needs to grow stronger, fight harder, and defend better. Because really, out of all of them, he has the least to lose. There is no family waiting for him back on Earth. He isn’t a princess with a lost planet and a penchant for bringing the universe together under an alliance. He’s not an advisor with the extended knowledge of worlds and its beings. 

Keith only has Shiro – everything to him but nothing against the balance of the world and a mission that demands the lives of everyone in every way possible, in life and in death. 

Keith, without his wanting, has always been a fighter. It’s only natural that he’d become the warrior that washes his hands with blood. Lance, Pidge, Hunk, even Allura and Coran – in the moment when there is only one option but to kill, how can he let them shoulder the consequences, the resulting guilt thereafter? And Shiro – he can see it in the way each recollection of his time in captivity makes him freeze on the battlefield – Shiro had been forced to kill. 

Keith can’t do that to Shiro. The day he got Shiro back, the day he found his home again, he vowed to protect him. He knows, that in the every fiber of his being, he would kill for Shiro. 

This time both Hunk and Lance are in the cryo-pod. Pidge sleeps close by despite how uncomfortable it must be, unwilling to leave their friends alone even in their healing slumber. Someone has draped a blanket around their curled body. They appear even smaller, more vulnerable, compared to their awake and kicking self. They’re a child, he thinks, forced to fight for the world. Keith’s fists clench tight enough that if it weren’t for his gloves, he imagines it would have broken skin.

He’s simmering with anger directed inwardly at himself and at the destruction the Galra leave in its wake, when a warm hand comes to rest on his shoulder, gripping ever so slightly. He knows who it is before he turns and finds Shiro gazing down at him with tired concern. His anger is both subdued and burning brighter simultaneously. Subdued and calmed in a way that Shiro has always had an effect on him, somehow always grounding and bring him back into focus, but also burning in the reminder of his failure to protect, time and time again. 

“Hey,” Shiro greets softly. He nods towards the doors, motioning him to step outside.

Keith follows, like he always has, and always will. 

They walk down the corridors of the Altean ship until they arrive at Shiro’s door. Keith remembers how often he has stood at the very same door with a raised fist that never sounds. He always waits for Shiro to bring him. Keith, for some reason, could never find it in himself to ask to be let in. 

He follows Shiro inside. Like his room, there’s not much to look at but the bare necessities. In a way, Keith and Shiro have never settled in, despite how long they’ve been out here fighting. They both know how likely it is they will never live long enough to see Earth again. And if they ever did return? Earth will have moved on, while time out here stands as still as space. The cryo-pods had kept Allura and Coran alive and ageless for thousands and thousands of years. All their time spent healing has no doubt helped in stalling the inevitable for a little bit. And when they fall, the clean up of their rooms will be easier on everyone. It’s almost a silent, unspoken truth between Shiro and Keith: them before the others.

He wonders if anyone will remember them when they go.

Shiro’s hand slides down his wrist with the barest touch, sending him shivering, before his fingers twine itself together with Keith’s own. 

They don’t talk about this either. Kerberos changed things. A lot of things changed. But nothing has ever changed the way Keith feels for Shiro. 

He guides Keith to sit on his bed and then moves towards the wall. When he places his palm on one of the panels, a drawer slides out with a hiss. He rifles in it and pulls out what he’s looking for: a first aid kit. 

They do this dance after every battle. They patch each other up; clean each other’s wounds while wishing so fervently that they’d never have to be inflicted with any kind of hurt in the first place. Each scrape, each cut, each bruise is a reminder of how close they came to losing each other.

When Shiro holds his hand, his arm, his face, it feels like a reminder, it feels like a prayer, it feels like a blessing. _Shiro, Shiro, Shiro._ A tireless chant, a voiceless promise, and a reminder that he’s here, he’s really here. Keith has never loved anything more, not even space, not even flying, compared to how he loves Shiro. The force of it almost scares him, steals his breath away, and he figures this is how free falling feels like with no end in sight. 

Shiro is finishing up wrapping a bandage around his arm when Keith raises his hand, the slightest of tremors wracking his body when he rests his palms against Shiro’s cheek. Shiro, imperceptibly and immediately, leans into the touch. His eyes meet Keith’s, a solid, tender gaze, so- so much, so much packed into just the span of a stare, that Keith, without understanding, starts to cry.

Somehow, Shiro is always – and only – the one to make him cry.

Shiro brings his forehead close to rest against his, raises both of his hands up to cup Keith’s face. His thumbs wander, caressing his skin with soft touches, wiping the tears away. They breathe into each other, fill the crevices and empty spaces of their broken bodies with each other’s breaths, each other’s souls, an exchange of each other’s lives they promised long ago. There’s a saying from where they come from that a sigh, a breath, leaves a piece of your soul on earth. Keith likes to think they leave a piece of themselves in each other in the way their breaths mingle and meet with the pressing of lips. Keith drinks Shiro in and Shiro does the same. They fall onto the bed in each other’s arms, faces close, hovering, breathing. Their touches are gentle but firm as they embrace each other close in the hopes that they’ll always have this, that they’ll always have each other for as long as they can fight, until their last dying breath.

But they don’t talk about it. They don’t talk about the weight of worlds or the clock chasing them down in the vast timelessness of space. 

In the quiet stillness, there’s only the sound of the exchange of souls. 

(And it’s enough for Keith.)


	2. We will call this place our home (the dirt in which our roots may grow)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sheith Week 2016 Day 2: Alone/Together
> 
> _Smaller than dust on this map_   
>  _Lies the greatest thing we have:_   
>  _The dirt in which our roots may grow_   
>  _And the right to call it home._   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary poem and chapter title is from [North - Sleeping at Last](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2WpvCPTjgO8)
> 
> This is a separate work from the previous chapter, as it's set in an entirely alternate universe. (Soulmates across every alternate universe hehe). I just decided to collect all the Sheith Week fics in one work. Sorry for any confusion! See End Notes for translations.

Keith’s dream always starts the same way. 

When he opens his eyes, the sky is a clear azure, not a cloud in sight. Over him, a blossoming tree with pink flowers – a cherry blossom tree, he knows now – gently sways in the breeze, stray flowers and petals drifting down onto the ground.

He’s standing in front of a small playground, children running around in their play. His thoughts feel distant, fuzzy, almost difficult to grasp. Belatedly he realizes that this is not his home; cherry blossoms do not bloom from where he comes. There’s only one other place he has traveled to that does have cherry blossoms – Japan.

The scene shifts before he realizes. Now, he’s in the entryway of a home. There’s a cupboard to his right and a few shoes and house slippers on the ground. An old woman with weathered skin and gray hair stands in front of him, warmly dressed in traditional robes. 

When he was small, his mother had taken him to Tokyo to visit his Grandma. When Keith had met her, he had his behind his mother’s leg, who had chided him with some good-humored laughter. “She’s your grandma, Keith. Your baba, my mother,” she had explained. Keith only stared. His grandma, however, had smiled gently at him and didn’t push. 

Although Keith could not understand her words very well, he thought she wasn’t a scary person after all. He would hide (as well as a seven year old could) and watch her. She spent most of her time in the small garden, tending to her flowers. Sometimes she would sing to them and she often would tenderly cradle the buds with her fingers. Someone who loved her flowers so much could not possibly be a bad person, Keith had concluded. Eventually, the distance between the two grew shorter, until Keith spent most of his days crouched beside her. 

“これは紫陽花.” _This is ajisai._ His grandma had pointed towards blue and purple flowers that rounded in a ball. Keith liked those the best. They huddled close together in bunches; flowers like those would never get lonely. Later, when he asked his mom, she had told him that “ajisai” meant hydrangea. They were hydrangea flowers. 

“But it’s really strange,” she had murmured. “It’s much too early for them to be blooming. It’s still spring, tsuyu is not for another few months.” 

Keith’s grandma began to take him to the nearby playground. The path they walked on was lined with blooming trees that awash the scenery in a fluttering, dreamy pink. His baba had picked a flower off from the ground and then motioned to the trees. “キース、これはさくら.” _Keith, this is sakura._

“Sakura,” Keith repeated to himself. His grandma had smiled brightly in response. “私の大好きな花.” Keith knew what that meant, and his arms waved in excitement. She loved sakura. In that very moment, they also became a favorite of his.

While Keith liked the walk to the playground, the destination was less to his liking. His grandma encouraged him to play with the other neighborhood kids, but he couldn’t speak Japanese. He didn’t see a point in trying.

So he kept mostly to himself, digging into the sand and placing sakura flowers into each hole he dug. He ignored the kids running around, ignored any of the curious stares they threw at him. 

Keith feels a sense of loneliness in his dream. He’d always been alone. That much hasn’t changed.

“何をしているの？” A shadow casts over where Keith crouches and he looks up, a bit disgruntled to be interrupted. The other kids had once tried to approach him. In the end, they always left when they realized that he was different, didn’t speak the same language.

A young boy with short black hair stood over him. He was probably a good couple of inches taller than Keith, and his skin was a little tanner, possibly from spending time under the sun. He looked like the kind of kid who was good at sports. 

Keith didn’t understand anything past the “nani.” He stared at the boy with a small frown. He tried to remember the words his mom had taught him to say in situations like these. Keith spoke carefully. “日本語を分からない.” _I don’t understand Japanese._

“本当？じゃあ、英語もいい？” The boy smiled in a friendly manner.

Keith squinted. He had no idea what the boy was saying.

“あーごめん、ごめん,” the boy paused. “English? Do you know English?”

Keith’s eyes widened and he nodded without thinking.

“Lucky,” the boy replied, eyes twinkling. “My mom is from America, so she speaks English with me. My name is Takashi, but people call me Shiro. よろしくね.” He bowed slightly. 

Flustered, Keith stood up to bow back. His mom had told him to bow whenever someone else did. 

“Um,” he started hesitantly, “my name is Keith.”

Shiro blinked. “Kiisu?”

“What?” Keith said, eyebrows creasing. “No, Kei _th_.”

“Kiisu…?”

The exchange between the two went back and forth for a bit until Shiro was finally able to say Keith’s name properly. When he did, Shiro had placed his fists on his hips proudly and repeated the shorter boy’s name like a chant.

“Keith, Keith, Keith.” Shiro laughed happily.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Keith muttered, glancing to the side. He didn’t know why, but it made him both a little embarrassed and a little happy. He had finally made a friend.

They spent the rest of the day playing together until the sun started to set. His grandma called him over when it was time to go. Her smile was happier than usual while she listened to Keith talk about his day. His mother had been pleased as well to learn about Shiro when he got home. Keith asked his mom to ask his grandma if they could go again. Baba had been more than happy to agree.

Within a week, the sakura trees lost their flowers, and while Keith was sad to see them go so quickly, the prospect of seeing Shiro always filled him with renewed excitement. 

And so the spring days passed, with Shiro and Keith meeting to play together. Keith spent time with his grandmother, learning how to care for a variety of flowers.

A month later, the hydrangea flowers in the garden started to wither, the brilliant blues and purples deteriorating into a dry brown before falling off completely.

His Grandma’s health worsened. Keith learned from his mother that she had been sick for a while, that she’d come back to Japan to care for her. Worried, Keith spent more of his days helping his mother care for his Grandma. But that also meant less of Shiro, who he had started to miss. 

But he soon forgot about it in the early days of June, when his grandma passed away, along with all of the flowers in the garden. His mother had wept for days.

Keith stopped going to the playground.

In July, the rain was relentless. And with the rain, hydrangea flowers started blooming all over Tokyo.

Keith cried when he first saw them. His mother gathered him in her arms like she used to do when he was smaller. His cries were muffled into her shoulder, tears wet against her skin. “Baba didn’t get to see them,” he had said through hiccupping breaths. 

“She did,” his mother had replied softly. “Don’t you remember? They bloomed early for her, much earlier than they were ever supposed to bloom.” Her voice had wavered in its tearfulness. “They must have wanted to say their goodbyes before she left.”

In August, they said their farewells as well and returned home to America. Keith left with thoughts of his grandma, of the sakura and ajisai, and of Shiro. 

\---

He wakes up disoriented, feels the trail of tears almost dry on his skin. Keith rubs his eyes and gets up, gazing around at his surroundings. His blankets had been kicked off his futon. 

Right. He’s studying abroad in Tokyo, at a university close by to his home. He had opted out of dorming, preferring instead to stay at his Baba’s house to save money. 

His parents had decided to keep the house after his Grandma passed. Once a month, a hired woman came to clean and tidy the house. Despite Keith’s return, his mother had insisted on maintaining the service. 

He yawns, checking the time. 7:12 am. Keith groans, flopping back onto his futon. He didn’t have classes until 9 am. 

Absently, he thinks about the dream. This time, the dream – the memories – had been even clearer. “It’s the seventh time this month,” he murmurs. At that point you had to admit it was a reoccurring dream. Normally he would push it aside but…

There was something about it, something that tugged within his chest. He didn’t know what it meant, didn’t know what it was trying to tell him. He breathes in deeply and closes his eyes, letting his mind drift. He thinks of the boy on the playground, his first friend… 

“Shiro,” he whispers. The same tug, again. 

That alone is enough for him to make a decision. He bolts up and gets ready even though it’s still too early. However, his current intended destination was not school, so the extra time would work in his favor.

The house gate swings shut behind him as he steps out onto the street. Just like his dreams, the sakura are just beginning to bloom. It makes following his dreams, his memories, a little easier. And the tugging feeling sets him in the right direction.

Despite the twists and turns, Keith quickly finds himself standing in front of the playground, nostalgia filling him with an ambivalent mix of loneliness, sorrow, and joy. It looked the same as it had all those years back, but some of the equipment had been changed out for newer models.

He looks up at the sky. It’s a clear, calm azure, not a cloud in sight. The cherry blossom trees are swaying gently above. He feels a sense of déjà vu with how eerily similar it is to his dream. He knows that this is the place, the place that had started calling him ever since the dreams started.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there staring at the sky, until his thoughts are interrupted by a deep, hesitant voice breaking the quiet.

“あの…” _Um…_

Keith turns, just a little shocked by how distracted he had been. There’s a man standing to his right, his hair an interesting combination of white and black – he had a white forelock that receded into the rest of his short black hair. It’s a surprise, considering how strict society was about colored hair. The crisp white work shirt and black business slacks he wears do nothing to hide his muscular form. Keith’s eyes return to scrutinize the man’s face. Something about it seemed familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. 

The guy rubs at his neck nervously. “I might be wrong, but are you by any chance… Keith?”

Keith’s eyes widen, breath pausing for just a second when it finally clicks.

“Shiro?” He says, voice breathy in disbelief. The tugging pulls, just once, before settling. It leaves him just a little dizzy in his confusion, wondering what it could possibly mean.

The man in question laughs in delight, seeming just as shocked as Keith is. “No way. What were the chances?” He’s grinning, still absorbing his shock, as he rubs his chin. “I can’t believe it.” He takes a few steps closer.

Keith, as if drawn by an invisible force, finds himself moving closer as well. 

“Shiro, how…”

Shiro’s smile is gentle, blinding, bright. Like it always had been. “You look the same. Except older.”

“You look… the same too, you look – good.” His last words send him into a panic. “I mean – I mean you look like you’re doing good! Fine. Good as in fine,” he fumbles, wincing at his sad attempts to save himself. 

Shiro’s response is to laugh, although it doesn’t sound mocking. Something seems to catch his attention and he stops to stare over Keith's head, who in turn watches the man in curious confusion. Shiro starts walking forward until he’s standing right in front of Keith. Keith swallows.

Shiro raises his hand above Keith’s head, and the shorter boy freezes. Shiro’s hand drops and in it is a small, perfectly intact sakura flower. He hands it to Keith with warm, smiling eyes. 

“For you,” he says softly. Keith cradles it in his hand, absently reminded of how his grandma had once held the very same flower. Keith gazes at it before looking up at Shiro in question.

“It suits you,” he continues, pausing for just a beat, “It’s beautiful.” _Like you_. The words are unspoken, but Keith can hear the implication. Shiro’s ears turn a little red and he looks to the side.

Keith feels something blooming in his chest and can’t help the smile that forms.

“Hey,” he says. “Shiro?”

The man turns back to him. “Yes?” His grey eyes glitter under the sun, his voice rising in an almost hopeful tone. 

Keith shoves his clammy hands into his sweater pockets to hide his nervousness. “Let’s eat together sometime.” His voice doesn’t waver, much to his relief. 

Shiro’s answering smile is radiant. Keith thinks he can see the red of Shiro’s ears reaching his cheeks. 

They don’t speak as they share private smiles with each other in comfortable silence. The two of them raise their eyes to gaze up at the cherry blossoms shading them. 

“Just like that time,” Shiro whispers, “that day we met.”

_Like fate_ , he thinks. Something new began that day, years ago.

And once again, under the same blossoming cherry blossoms, it begins again. 

\---

Keith’s house had felt too big, too empty when he’d been alone.

But here in Shiro’s arms, his back against his partner’s chest, blanket wrapped around the two of them as they watched the snowfall together, it’s not so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations/Explanations:  
> \- Tsuyu is the (heavy) rainy season of Japan. It started around July for me. Hydrangea (ajisai) flowers are often a symbol of tsuyu because they arrive with the rain (kind of). From what I know, hydrangea usually bloom only at this time (at least in my area of Tokyo.)  
> \- Cherry blossoms (sakura) start blooming in April in my area. So this story begins initially in April. Cherry blossoms only bloom for about a week and then die.  
> (Translations included for things Keith didn't understand):  
> "何をしているの？" What are you doing?  
> "本当？じゃあ、英語もいい？” Really? Then, is English ok?  
> "あーごめん、ごめん,” Aah, sorry, sorry  
> "よろしくね" Nice to meet you/Please take care of me/I'm in your care  
> My Japanese is not fluent, so there may be mistakes ^^;
> 
> I'm just barely making day 2 of Sheith Week haha. Enjoy this wonderful week~ As always, thank you for reading ♡♡♡ Have a great day (❁´▽`❁)*✲ﾟ*

**Author's Note:**

> It's Sheith Week!!! (❁´▽`❁)*✲ﾟ* This is for Day 1 (October 22) - Hurt/Comfort.  
> More chapters to come if I decide to write on the themes for the other days~
> 
> Thank you for reading, as well as for an kudos/comments ♡♡♡  
> Have a great Sheith Week ya'll ( ˊᵕˋ )♡.°


End file.
